


Comfort

by Rainyhart



Series: Enduring Life [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-08 00:51:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1920501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainyhart/pseuds/Rainyhart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucifer has trouble sleeping one night and decides to seek comfort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> This one is set after the events of "All This and Eternity Too", as does the rest of this series from here on out. Apologies for taking so long to post new parts to the series!

Its two thirty-five in the morning on a Tuesday and Lucifer just can’t sleep. There’s a light coming from the hall that’s just too bright tonight, his mattress pokes into his back just a little more than usual, the snoring from Sam’s bed just across from him sounds just a volume louder-- and his mind buzzes through endless thoughts a mile a minute. He’s tried almost every trick in the book he knows to lure sleep forward, but the cause of this entire predicament burns clear in the back of his mind. 

It was earlier today when Sam was in class, before they passed out after boxes of Chinese food and aged superhero films that his brother Michael had called to ask if he would be coming back for the holidays, or if he would be contacting them any time soon. Of course, he had let it go to voice-mail so if he checked his cell phone now the message would still be there in the long list of others he’d received the past few months; his brother’s smooth condescending voice and weary sigh just before he even says anything each and every time making Lucifer unsure of if he ever wants to call him back at all.

The sound of sheets and comforters rustling pulls him from his thoughts, his head turning to the left just in time to see Sam roll over and expose his floppy head of hair, face wrapped up in the bundle of blankets he managed to cocoon himself in before the movie they were watching even ended, leaving Lucifer to be the one that ended up cleaning their mess before he could even consider going to bed so Sam wouldn’t have to when he wakes up.

It’s two thirty-eight in the damn morning and he’s seriously considering waking Sam up to confront him about the message because it’s just eating at him that much, but at the same time he knows Sam has an important test to take before Thanksgiving break starts in a few days, and risking his sleep is the last thing he wants to do, really. 

Still; “I guess you’re busy at college doing whatever the hell it is rebellious runaways do.” Still; “Just wondering if you’re ever going to return these messages or if you’re planning on ignoring us for the rest of your life” Still; “The girls have taken over your room, they blame you for all the fighting going on”

Still.

“Sam,” He says, and he thinks his voice cracked somewhere near the end-- his first thought of it being because he’s been quiet for several hours now, probably. When he’s certain that he’s not to get a response from it he slips out from beneath the covers and takes the few steps between their bed until his thighs are nearly touching Sam’s mattress, takes a breath, and kneels. “I’m worried about something,” He starts, backtracks, “Worried about something someone said.”

Lucifer has to stop there to think about how he wants to word this without saying too much, and he realizes it’s a thing he’s been doing a lot lately. Thinking about how to word things when he never used to and christ Sam is his boyfriend -- his deeply asleep boyfriend – so the whole thing seems kind of ridiculous to do in the first place. 

He starts off with the voice-mail, how that after he listened to it he went off to the showers for half an hour just to stand under the cold stream of water that made him miss his last class of the day, and that straight afterwards he crawled into bed with one of Sam’s sweat-shirts on, nose buried deep in his mythology book until Sam got back and collapsed on the bed beside him with the offer of their weekly movie marathons. Follows into how much the words of the voice-mail made him want to crawl into the deepest hole he could find if it meant not having to start a fight, how the invitation to thanksgiving dinner over break only made the desire worse, and then finally –finally—with tears silently falling from his watery eyes he declares how much that in all of this he’s glad he has Sam here with him, and that he doesn’t see himself anywhere else without him; how impossible it is to see himself come this far at all without knowing someone so much alike himself they’re almost incredibly one whole, two sides of a white piece of paper filled with all the possibilities of painting any type of image while still be connected; always connected. 

A part of something intact.

The covers shift, and he’s sure Sam is still asleep but he gets up nonetheless, travels back to his side of the room and slips beneath his comforter to stare at the shadows and light project on the wall so he can regain some composure and drift into sleep. 

Maybe it isn’t coincidence that he swears he feels someone gently brush at the tips of his hair that night. Or that he can recall the whisper of, “It’s okay,” in his ear from the top of his head. Or even that Sam had seemed to move from his own bed into his somewhere in between when he fell asleep and woke up again in the morning.

But with strong arms wrapped around his waist and a warm body pressing into his back he can’t help but think that maybe; by chance, everything just might be okay.


End file.
